Mike Wins
by Mike Teavee Obsessive
Summary: Mike refuses to be transported. Charlie is booted off. Mike wins! But is it really what anyone wanted?
1. Mike Wins

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything CATCF-related…yet…DVD comes out in Britain soon! I saw the ad for it this afternoon and I nearly did what Mike does at the end of this chappie!

**Author's note: **This is what happens when a one-shot idea gets out of control…  
And, yeah, my penname has changed. I used to be **Smegginitlarge**.

"This is the testing room for my latest invention: television chocolate."  
Mike sighed; the coolest thing in the factory and he applied it to freakin' _chocolate_. Just like the rest of this stinking place. Well, the Inventing Room had been kinda cool until the gum-chewing girl had had a bit of a mishap. Just like the rest of the tour-group, each one more disturbing than the last.  
"One day it occurred to me. Hey, if television can break a photograph into a million tiny pieces and send it whizzing through the air, then why can't I do the same thing with chocolate? Why can't I send a real bar of chocolate through the television all ready to be eaten?"  
Mike could think of several thousand reasons. It suddenly hit Mike that Wonka hadn't answered his previous question ("What's the special prize and who gets it?") so he opened his mouth to ask again.  
"Sounds impossible," Mr. Teavee said.  
Mike smiled. This was his time to shine.  
"It _is_ impossible," he said, injecting as much venom and sarcasm into his speech as he could, "You don't understand anything about science. First off, there's a difference between wavesand particles. Duh! Second, the amount of power it'd take to convert energy and matter would be like nine atomic bombs."  
"MUMBLER!" shouted Wonka, "Seriously, I cannot understand a single word you're saying!"  
Mike glared back at him, trying not to break eye-contact, though the ridiculous goggles they were wearing made it pretty irrelevant.  
"Bring out the chocolate!" Wonka yelled at some Oompa-Loompas, who immediately carried in a huge chocolate bar whilst Wonka explained, "It's gotta be real big, 'cos you know how on TV you can film a regular-sized man and he comes out looking this tall? Same basic principle."  
Mike didn't know _where_ to begin on criticizing _that_ sentence.  
He watched intently as Wonka hit a big red button and the chocolate bar became suspended in space (defying the laws of physics, Mike noted). One blinding flash later, and the bar had vanished.  
"It's gone!" Charlie shouted.  
"Told ya! Now that bar of chocolate is rushing through the air above our heads in a million tiny little pieces. Come over here! Come on!"

Mike ran over to the television, beating everyone else, determined to find a fault in Wonka's idea.  
"Watch the screen!"  
Mike barely blinked.  
"Here it comes...oh, look!"  
The monolith on the screen was slowly replaced by a chocolate bar, accompanied by the appropriate white noise.  
"Take it," Wonka said, prodding Mike's shoulder.  
But Mike was still dubious, "It's just a picture on a screen."  
"Scaredy-cat! _You _take it," he repeated to Charlie. The scrawny little boy reached deep into the TV and pulled out the candy; Mike just stared in disbelief.  
"Eat it! Go on, it'll be delicious. It's just gotten a little smaller on the journey, that's all."  
After a few supposedly encouraging bites into mid-air from Wonka, Charlie bit into the chocolate bar and chewed for a bit.  
"It's great!" came the verdict.  
"It's a miracle," his grandfather said. Wonka strode round to the Oompa-Loompa who was sprawled casually in a big (big for the Oompa-Loompa, anyway) white chair, flicking from channel to channel with a remote. Mike winced when he saw himself sitting in that chair, his eyes constantly glued to some sort of screen. He looked around at the surroundings, bleak and lifeless, and wondered if Wonka was trying to make a point.  
"So imagine, you're sitting at home watching television, and suddenly a commercial will flash onto the screen. And a voice will say, 'Wonka's chocolates are the best in the world. If you don't believe us, try one for yourself.' And you simply reach out...and take it!"  
"Could you send other things?" Mike's dad asked, "Like, say, breakfast cereal?"  
"Do you even know what breakfast cereal is made of?" Wonka replied, "It's those curly little wooden shavings that you find in pencil sharpeners."  
"But could you send it by television if you wanted to?" asked Charlie.  
"Course I could."  
"What about people?" said Mike.  
"Why would I wanna send a person, they don't taste very good at all."  
How could this guy be so thick? He'd invented a teleporter, and he didn't seem in the least bit concerned. In fact, he'd gradually been getting less and less enthused with each room they visited. Maybe it was something to do with all the drop-outs. Well, Mike wasn't going to be stupid enough to let it happen to _him _– no matter how much he wanted to be the first person to be sent by television – so he just shrugged and made an 'I don't know' noise.  
The group stood in an anticipatory silence for a good few minutes before Mike said, "What?"  
Wonka looked shocked, "N-nothing, I…I was just expecting…"  
Another pause.  
"_What?_" Mike asked again, getting impatient.  
Wonka sighed, "Nothing."  
Mike looked towards his father for some sort of enlightenment, but he looked just as confused as the other occupants of the room.  
"Let's…move along," Wonka said miserably, "…I guess."

They all made their way towards the door. Mike was just about to take off his goggles when Wonka span round to face him, "Sure you don't wanna test it out, li'l boy?"  
"No way!" Mike protested, "I'll get shrunk!"  
"To be honest, I don't think it'll matter," Wonka said eyeing Mike up and down, "You're already kinda short, y'know."  
"Huh?"  
"You're the shortest kid on the tour!"  
"Well, I am _now_!" Mike yelled, "You've obliterated everyone else!"  
Wonka stared at him for a long time before slowly removing his own goggles.  
"Back in the Great Glass Elevator," he said desolately, "_All_ of you."  
Mr Teavee entered the contraption first, followed by his son, then Wonka, Grandpa Joe, and finally, Charlie.  
"Watch out, Charlie," Grandpa Joe said to his grandson, "You're jumper is caught in the door."  
"Hold the elevator!" Charlie cried urgently as he struggled to free himself, squirming like a slug over a heater. But it was too late. The elevator shot off, tearing his shoddy old sweater off. The others gasped as candy bar after candy bar tumbled to the glass floor.  
"What the…?" Wonka stared at the chocolate with his name printed all over it.  
"Oh my goodness!" Charlie screamed, tugging at the rags to stop any more falling out.  
"Charlie…" Grandpa Joe said distantly, "You didn't…I mean, you wouldn't…"  
Charlie dropped his head, "I'm so sorry. I just thought we could use it…to feed the family."  
"Didn't you read the instructions?" Wonka asked testily, "It said you'd get a year's supply of chocolate! And you want _more_?"  
"And just _chocolate_?" Mike added, "You think you and your family can live on chocolate alone? I mean, as well as the incredible obesity risks, the amount of colourings and chemicals-"  
Mike was silenced by his dad placing a hand on his shoulder.  
"I'm sorry, Grandpa," Charlie said softly, "I really am sorry."  
"It's alright, Charlie," he replied, ruffling the boy's hair, "Things _are _getting desperate. I suppose it was just a matter of time...I'm sure Mr. Wonka will forgive y-"  
"Are you kidding?" Wonka interrupted, "Forgive the little brat? For stealing my hard-worked-for creations? No. Way."  
"But Mr. Wonka…" Charlie pleaded, putting on his best puppy-dog expression. Wonka sighed and leaned down to him.  
"I wanted you to win," he said quietly, "And I really thought you'd do it. But now…"  
He glanced over at Mike and quickly back again, "Oh, just great," he said sarcastically, "You couldn't have just held out to beat the mumbler, could you?"  
Mike raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.  
"Oh well," Wonka said as Charlie and his grandfather slumped dejectedly down the corridor, and then turned to Mike, "You're good at math, right?"  
"The best," Mike replied immodestly, "Why?"  
"I guess you can be my accountant or something."  
"Huh?"  
"That's the special prize," Wonka explained, "A partnership with me."  
Mike shuddered, "You're joking, right?"  
Wonka shuddered, "No."  
Mr. Teavee acted quickly to catch his son as he fainted for the first time in his life.


	2. A Fresh Idea

**Author's Note: **Firstly, huge, huge, HUGE thanks to _The Weaving Wheel_ for ideas for this chapter! I was totally and utterly, one hundred per cent stuck, and I'll be in your debt forever for allowing me to complete it!  
Secondly, er…actually I don't have a second point. So just…enjoy! Thanks to all who reviewed!

Every day he woke up praying that it was all a nightmare. Just a mistake. He couldn't have won that tour and inherited a chocolate factory. A _chocolate_ factory! Of all things! Yet, here he was, same as every other day, leafing through page after page of accounts, calculating expenditure and profit.  
"How's it goin' there, Mike?" Wonka asked. He seemed to have relaxed into the new system a lot more readily than Mike had.  
"Not good, Wonka." (Mike still wasn't on first-name terms) "For some reason you've spent over twenty thousand dollars on caramel, whilst only getting a third of that money back on selling it."  
"Yeah, but I just get so darn addicted to that stuff!"  
Mike sighed, "But it's losing us precious money! You'll be bankrupt within the next eight months if you carry on like this!"  
"Well, what do you propose?"  
"A new invention," Mike said immediately, "Something totally innovative and fresh. Something everyone wants at a high price, that we can make at a low price."  
Wonka thought hard for a moment, then snapped his fingers, "By golly, I've got it! Chewy Strawberry Fudgetastic Fingers!"  
"No!" Mike snapped, "No candy."  
"Mike, if you hadn't noticed," Wonka said slowly, "I'm a candy-maker."  
Mike got up from the desk he had been sitting at for nine hours and paced around, partly to stretch his legs, but mainly so he could think properly, "I think we need something very different. Everybody knows you make candy, which is why it's becoming less and less of a boom every time you bring out a new kind. You should consider lending a part of this factory to making something completely different."  
"Like what?" Wonka sounded intrigued.  
"Well, I haven't thought it all the way through," Mike lied, "But maybe, I don't know, something like…video games?"  
Wonka eyed Mike suspiciously but let him continue.  
"Just think about it," Mike explained hurriedly, "We could start rumours about a new Wonka brand. People start to wonder if you've come up with another flavour, or another topping, or another candy bar. That's how it always is. Keep it a total secret until the last second when we reveal that it's not candy at all, but a video game!"  
"Sounds good," Wonka said, but he sounded solemn and unenthusiastic, "I'll put it on my 'to do' list."  
"Hey, if you wanna get out of this mess," Mike said, waving the account papers at him, "We've gotta get right on this project."  
Wonka sighed, "But…candy is my life!"  
"Well it's not mine, I can assure you," Mike muttered, "Let's get going on this."  
At that moment, Mr. Teavee walked through the door, "Mike, your mother and I were wondering if you wanted to go see a movie tonight," he saw Wonka look hopeful and hastily added, "Just the three of us."  
Since moving to the factory, Mike and his parents had become much closer through their mutual hatred of Wonka (Mrs. Teavee constantly tried to take a liking to him, but constantly failed). Now they spent a lot more time together, away from the factory whenever possible.  
"Sorry, Dad," Mike replied, "We've got a lot of work to do if we want to keep this business afloat."  
"Okay," Mr. Teavee said, "Maybe another night."  
Mike nodded and Mr. Teavee left.

"You know, you should really go out with your family once in a while," Wonka said brightly, "It'd do you some good."  
Mike's breathing rate increased drastically and he gave a cold glare to the deranged chocolatier, "Maybe I _would_," he said angrily, through gritted teeth, "If I _could_."  
Wonka mouthed wordlessly before hesitantly saying, "So, a video game, huh?"  
"Yes," said Mike dully breathing deeply to calm himself down.  
"Got any ideas?"  
Mike eyed the folders full of plans on his desk that he did _not_ want Wonka to see, "One or two."  
"Well, you know what, I think I'm just gonna leave it all to you," Wonka said with a quiver in his voice, "It's more your area anyway."  
"What?" Mike exclaimed, in mock anger, "And make me do _everything_? Plot, graphics, advertising? _Everything?_"  
"Uh…yeah!" Wonka said with a forced smile, "I'll stick to what I know."  
"What, wasting money?"  
Wonka gave a high-pitched giggle that made Mike wince. Luckily Wonka left before Mike got the chance to manhandle him out the door. He strode over to it, locked it and leaned against it breathing a sigh of relief.  
For the rest of the night Mike worked solidly, designing and testing on his laptop, making notes in the many, many folders that were scattered over the desk and drinking coffee after coffee after coffee until his eyes couldn't physically stay open on their own any more. He packed away all his stuff and made sure to lock it all up so Wonka couldn't get at it. If he found out the true intention of the video game, Wonka would never let him go. Or worse, demote him to candy-tester.  
Rubbing his sore eyes, Mike stepped out of his office and into the Inventing Room. Apart from the Television Room, this was his favourite place in the factory. As long as those damn Oompa-Loompas left him alone, he could quite happily spend the day wandering around admiring the technology, and he often did. Upon checking that the Oompa-Loompas hadn't left it unscrewed like last time, Mike tentatively put his foot on the bottom rung of the ladder that led to the walkway that ran around the ceiling of the Inventing Room. He climbed to the top and edged along the walkway; although not the largest of 14-year-old boys, Mike was still about twice the size of an Oompa-Loompa, so he had to be careful walking along the suspended, unbarriered, very narrow metal grating. He got to his favourite spot and eased himself into a sitting position, staring around at the fantastic machinery that was just under his feet. Twirling his ankles around in circles, he swung the walkway gently and smiled to himself. He had no clue why he was smiling. He had nothing to be happy about. Maybe he was finally going mad; half a year cooped up in the factory had sent him off the rails. He _was_ doing math, which was a sort of consolation prize, but he'd much rather be in a school setting. And able to switch on a computer game whenever he wanted (though his eye doctor had told him he didn't have to wear his contact lenses as often any more).  
He got so lost in his thoughts, Mike didn't notice the Oompa-Loompa step up to the Toffee-Flavourer and switch on the steam. A high-pitched whistle snapped him out of his daze, and he saw the Oompa-Loompa walking away. He knew what was going to happen.  
"Hey!" he yelled, "Get back here and shut off that machine!"  
But the Oompa-Loompa just kept on walking. They had a tendency to only obey Wonka's orders and ignore Mike completely. Only one of them ever did anything he said, and that was because he was easily bribed.  
This one, however, (and Mike nicknamed him 'Ratbastard' for it) did not do what Mike said. He just left the machine to billow out steam. Within seconds Mike couldn't see more than a few centimetres in front of him and he was drenched. He fumbled his way back along the walkway and slid down the ladder. His jeans felt heavy, his t-shirt was clinging to his body and his hair had gone mentally curly. Running a hand through it grumpily, he made his way to the exit, ordering one of the Oompa-Loompas to get the boat for him.


	3. Family Life

**Author's note: **Sorry for the delay (when I say 'delay' I mean 'chasm'). Writer's block can be a bitch. But it's done now. Oh, and Sonic will make an appearance later – in fact, she's an integral part of the plot :D Sorry if there are any spelling and grammar mistakes, but it's 2:30am. I'll correct it later ifI find any, and please feel free to point any out.

Mike stepped into the boat and sat on the very back bench; the one furthest away from the Oompa-Loompas. It wasn't until he leant back and let the sway of the boat on the chocolate river rock him gently that he realised just how tired he was. He snapped off a small piece of the boat and popped it into his mouth, grimacing at the taste, but getting invigorated by the sugar-rush. As the boat glided smoothly into the Chocolate Room (Mike's least favourite room) he took a moment to really look at his surroundings. He was used to vividly bright colours; he'd been brought up with them flashing across his eyes. But the Chocolate Room was different. It was artificial and static and – no matter what Wonka said – it wasn't in the least bit beautiful. Why his mother had chosen this room to set up house was beyond him. He'd considered going to live by himself in the Television Room, but figured he'd spent enough years of his life alone with a TV set. So the Chocolate Room it had to be. He clambered out of the boat and scrabbled up the grass bank to his house.  
It was exactly like his old house in Colorado: a suburban bungalow with pale yellow walls and a red roof. His father had even put the same garage on, though Mike didn't know why – they kept the car in the courtyard outside. Wonka had expressly forbidden any form of transport inside the factory (except the boat and the elevator, of course). Probably to stop them from escaping. Mike stuck his key into the lock (a precaution he had forced upon his parents after waking up in the middle of his first night to find an Oompa-Loompa had broken in and was sitting calmly at the bottom of his bed) and pushed open the door. The living room seemed surprisingly dark, except for the 'standby' button flashing on his unsaved game.  
"Mom?"  
He felt his way over to the light switch, knocking his knee on many tables and chairs in the process.  
"Ow! Son of a…!"  
He heard a scraping noise and turned on the light in a panic.  
"Dad?"  
Some more scraping and scrabbling emanated from the trash can in the kitchen. Mike took a few hesitant steps towards it. If he'd learnt one thing during his stay here, it was to never take an Oompa-Loompa by surprise. You could end up with a lot of your hair missing.  
Wincing at the memory of the many salon visits, Mike grabbed a rolling pin from the side and advanced on the bin. It shook a bit and he froze. The lid slowly opened. He could see two eyes gleaming out at him.  
"Sonic!"  
He knocked the lid off and a black kitten jumped into his arms.  
"Sonic, you know you're not supposed to go into the trash," he scolded and put the cat into its basket.

He glanced at the clock – half past three. Mike yawned and pushed Sonic's water bowl further towards her with his foot. Mike's eyes were drooping and he knew he needed sleep, but Sonic made such a pathetic face at him that Mike had to kneel down and stroke her for a while.  
"Why did the doctor suggest a kitten?" he wondered aloud, "Surely a Tarantula is just as good for anger management. Or a Cobra. But no," he sighed and scratched behind Sonic's ears, "I got landed with you."  
Sonic purred gently and Mike couldn't help but smile, "You pathetic little…"  
"Mike?"  
Mike looked up at his dad, "Yeah?"  
"Why are you in so late?"  
Mike leaned against the kitchen cupboards, scooped Sonic up into his lap and stated, "Wonka."  
"This is ridiculous – he can't keep you in until these hours! You're only a child!"  
Mike scowled and muttered, "I can do what I want."  
"Oh, because you really _want_ to be working here. In a _chocolate_ factory. With the man you once described as the metaphorical glucose sweet to a diabetic."  
The boy shoved the cat carelessly into its basket and got to his feet.  
"I'm going to bed."  
Mike stormed out of the kitchen and into the living room. Mr Teavee picked up the lid of the trash can and placed it carefully back on.  
"I won't tell your mother that Sonic is misbehaving again," he reasoned with his son, "If you promise to come home earlier in future."  
Mike turned round to face him.  
"That's a stupid deal to make," he said quietly, "As I don't give a damn either way."  
Mr Teavee watched sadly as his son went to catch a few hours sleep. He would have to leave again in the early morning, and then there would be no sign of him until he got back at the same time the next night.


	4. Mr Teavee Steps Up

**Author's note: **Right, my _one_ review for the last chapter spurred me to do this chapter. Thanks _bloomacncheez_!

Mr Teavee marched to the small purple door at the end of the winding corridor. Well, he didn't march. He sort of shimmied. The fact that the corridor was quite narrow and bendy coupled with the ceiling that gradually slanted downwards made it hard for him to properly march. By the time he got to the door he was slouching. He knocked on the door with his left hand (his right was trapped between his thigh and the wall). He waited just a few seconds before Wonka opened it, his hat hastily shoved on his head.  
"What?" he asked brightly but with a dash of irritability.  
"I want to talk to you about Mike," Mr Teavee stated. He tried to sound concerned and urgent but he could barely breathe in the cramped corridor so it came out as more of a gasp.  
"What about him?"  
Mr Teavee squirmed in an attempt to get more comfortable but succeeded only in whacking his head against the ceiling, "Uh, could I come in?"  
Wonka didn't seem all too keen on the idea but waved him in anyway. Mr Teavee looked around, hardly containing his disdain. The walls were purple, the carpet was purple and the ceiling was purple. The bed was purple and red. The lamps were red. The curtains were red. There were huge pictures of Wonka…everywhere. A small work-desk in the corner of the room was littered with drawings and designs for upcoming chocolate. Just above the desk-lamp was a small picture of Mike with several suspicious, dart-sized holes in it. Mr Teavee ignored it.  
"Mr Wonka-"  
"Please," Wonka interrupted, "call me Willy!"  
"Mr Wonka," Mr Teavee continued after a short pause, "Mike is only fourteen years old. He cannot be expected to work in these conditions. He often gets home in the early hours-"  
"It is his decision as to how long he works," Wonka butted in again, "He does have a tendency to push himself to the limits, that's true, but in the world of business that's very important!"  
"But he's tiring himself out! He'll have grey hairs by the time he's twenty-five!"  
Wonka giggled, "That's hardly likely. I've almost got my Hair Toffee perfected!"  
"Listen," Mr Teavee pushed on through gritted teeth, "My son – oh, you have got to stop flinching when I say that! – my son is a hard-working boy, I admit, but this is going too far. I'd like you to get him home by ten, if you can. Earlier, if possible. And if his blood pressure and stress levels haven't improved the next time we take him to the doctor, I'm holding you personally responsible!"  
Wonka tilted his head slightly to one side and stared at him for a bit, "That's kinda irresponsible, dontcha think?"  
"What?"  
"Well, like you say, he's _your_ son. Not mine. I would never, ever have children. And even if I did for some weird reason, I would _not _raise it to be a monstrosity like Mike."  
"Excuse me? _Monstrosity_?"  
Wonka nodded and said bluntly, "Yeah!"  
Mr Teavee balled his fists in rage. How _dare _Wonka insult Mike like that! OK, so he wasn't a basket of roses, that was for sure, but Wonka didn't even _know_ him! Not properly. Not really…

Mr Teavee span round and stormed out before he could do any damage to the insane chocolate-maker. He swung open the door in fury and immediately smacked his forehead against the frame. Remembering how small it was, he ducked and made his way back down the precarious corridor. By the time he got home it was almost half past five and Mike was already up.  
"Where've you been?" he asked his dad as he poured milk onto his cereal.  
"To see Wonka," Mr Teavee said, then instantly wished he hadn't. Mike slammed the milk carton on the kitchen counter, spilling a fair amount.  
"_What_?"  
Mr Teavee shrugged to cover his nervousness, "Well, I had to. It was unreasonable to keep you working like that!"  
Mike sighed and dug a spoon into the cereal, "Why do you always interfere?"  
"Who else would?"  
The spoon stopped half-way to Mike's mouth, "You say it like it's a good thing."  
"If I didn't interfere every now and again…well, I wouldn't be a very good father of a fourteen year old, would I?"  
Mike couldn't help but laugh, "I guess. Still…can you just leave it be from now on?"  
Mr Teavee nodded, "I'll try."  
A beeping noise emanated from Mike's wristwatch. He threw his uneaten spoonful of cereal back into the uneaten bowl of cereal and grabbed his bag from the side. As he reached the door, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned back to see his father staring right into his eyes.  
"Don't go."  
"Huh?"  
"Don't go," Mr Teavee repeated giving Mike a small shove towards his bedroom door, "Take today out to catch up on sleep. Take _all_ day if you have to, then tomorrow we'll all spend the day together as a family."  
"But-"  
"I'll explain to Mr Wonka if he comes by," Mr Teavee soothed.  
Mike hesitated. He really needed to go to work on his video-game project, and that included talking a few things over with Wonka. But the thought of his pillow was so inviting…  
Before he knew it, he was snuggling into his covers and dreaming of Wonka tied to a stake with flames everywhere.


	5. A Bad Idea, A Good Idea

**Author's note: **Have had major problems with this chapter for several reasons. The first was that I got into a whole Only-Writing-Harry-Potter-Fanfictions mood, so all my CatCF fics took a back seat (as well as my Red Dwarf ones). The second was that I hadn't watched the film for so long that I had absolutely _zip_ inspiration – that was easily cured by watching the film three times in a row (and repeating the TV Room scene several times :D). The third, and most annoying, reason was The Dreaded Writer's Block. Not good when my creative writing coursework for English was due in a couple of weeks ago. Anyway, I'll stop babbling now and let you read my feeble attempt at chapter 5 of _Mike Wins_.

"Are you kidding?" Mike said eyeing the red suit Wonka was clutching in his hands.  
"Nope!" Wonka said brightly, "When you took those couple of days off, I took the opportunity to whip up some clothing for you. Because, and no offence intended here, skulls and blood don't exactly suggest finest chocolate."  
Mike stroked the hem of his shirt protectively, "There's nothing wrong with my clothes! Besides, I am _not_ wearing that."  
"Why not?"  
"Well, there's no black in it, for a start," he began, "it's about four sizes too big, I never wear collars, particularly those with large emblems, I'm not limp therefore I don't need a cane, and the first and foremost reason why I won't wear this: it would make me look like YOU."  
Wonka looked vaguely hurt, like when you don't pay attention to a puppy for ten minutes, "I just thought I'd try and liven up your wardrobe."  
"Well…don't."  
Mike was sure he could have come up with a better comeback than that, but he was just so desperate to get Wonka out of his office.  
"Can you go now?"  
"OK, fine," Wonka said sulkily, cramming the offending outfit into a bag, and pouting dreadfully, "I'll remember your rudeness next time I invite you round to dinner."  
"You _never_ invite me round to-"  
But Wonka had already left.  
"Not that I'd show up!" Mike yelled after him.  
He groaned in frustration and slumped in his seat, biting the tip of his thumb in thought. He couldn't stay there much longer. He just couldn't. He'd go mad. He did have a plan set for action, but it would take weeks, if not months. He angrily pulled open a drawer and rifled through it, dragging out vast blueprints and overflowing files and folders. Muttering quietly to himself about how idiotic and childish Wonka was, he flicked through the masses of paper, crossing bits out and adding notes in the margins. He was determined to get as much done as possible before the finance meeting he and Wonka had planned that evening. Two hours trapped in a room, trying to explain to five major bank executives why loaning ten thousand dollars to a financially insecure chocolate factory to develop a video game really was a good idea. Joy.  
And there was still one more problem to sort out…

"Are you insane?"  
Mike had expected this reaction from Wonka, but he persisted.  
"Think about it: you've already let five kids into your factory. And they all left horribly maimed in some way. So they're not exactly going to talk about their experiences."  
"That Salt kid did."  
Mike sighed, "That was different. Veruca sold her story to the press for attention, and she blew it totally out of proportion. I was there – there were _not_ three thousand squirrels. Anyway, my point is the rest of the world is still wondering exactly what lies within the walls of this factory. Why, I can't be sure, 'cause I sure as hell don't care, but for some reason your business has held some fascination with everyone else. It's only fair to let them know _without_ hurting them or drowning them or…I dunno…burning them."  
Wonka frowned, "How many did you say?"  
"However many apply," Mike shrugged, with an air that suggested it could be anywhere from one to one hundred…although he knew it would be nearer one thousand.  
Wonka got up and paced the room, "And you'd be in charge?"  
"Yes," Mike replied firmly, then added in an undertone, "I don't trust you not to screw this up for me."  
"OK then," Wonka said eventually, "As long as you take full and total responsibility."  
Mike smiled, "Gladly."  
He made a big, fake bow and turned to the door, his smile turning into a smirk, "Gladly…"


End file.
